Louder than Words
by Deslock
Summary: The BLU Spy learned a long time ago never to trust anyone, not even his own colleagues. However, on a team that is built on trust this has singled him out for suspicion and confrontation. Tensions are high for the BLU's these days, especially between the Spy and the Sniper – whose whole life motto is never to rely on other people. Sniper/Spy.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

The masked man sat with a cigarette dangling from his lips as smoke danced around him. He was dressed in an immaculate blue three piece and a Burberry London tie. His wingtips were black and lightweight, designed for elegant mobility should he have to move undetected. Which was most of the time. He brushed over his stainless steel watch with gloved fingers. Well, it _looked_ like a watch. Only he, a few colleagues, and his targets before they died knew that it was not just a watch. In fact, very little of what the man owned was what it appeared to be, including himself.

It was raining outside as the wind battered into the side of the RED base, a thousand fingertips drumming in unsynchronised rhythm. There were no windows, but the man could hear the drops hammering off the roof. Even with the ferocity of the rain picking up, his keen ears could still detect the footsteps approaching him. He crushed his cigarette into the arm of the leather chair and stood.

Ten seconds later, the RED Pyro and Engineer, who was holding a red briefcase, entered into the room. The coast was clear, they thought. Alas, the masked man was invisible to their eyes. Twenty seconds later, both REDs were dead and the man was dusting an imaginary imperfection from his suit. He picked up the red briefcase and began to walk out of the room, his expensive shoes _clacking_. As he went, he lifted a hand to his ear piece and pressed a button.

"Zis is ze Spy," he said. "I have ze intelligence." Not long after he had taken his leave, the harsh boom of The Administrator's voice announced a BLU victory. Back at his own base, the triumph was shared by the whole team and they congratulated and thanked him, though there always remained an underlying weariness of him.

BLU had been a team for almost eight months, but the Spy was the one mercenary who remained an enigma, what with his mask and his secretive ways. He was the observant type and held himself with an arrogance that often made his team mates unwilling to engage him in conversation. Regardless of how his team felt, they all respected his skill – especially on days where he won them a victory. Like today.

What would they ever do without him?

..

The Sniper grinned as he attached his scope to the rail of his rifle and peered down it, his grin stretching as the work-hour approached. He caressed his rifle with pride, mentally patting himself on the back for her lack of scratches despite her age, and how no speck of dust could be found on her ebony surface. She was beautiful. He lay her down against the wall of his designated nest, folded his vest behind his head, pulled his hat over his eyes and went to sleep. Most men his age were probably heading home to a wife and some kids about now. Back home in Australia he'd likely be working on the family farm, if he weren't here. The thought made him shiver. The Sniper, however, was napping alone in his nest. Waiting to kill people.

He was good at killing people.

He could dwell on the current state of his life and hear the voice of his father berating him in his head, or his mother pleading he find a woman and settle down, or he could ignore it. Of course, he chose to ignore it. After a brief nap, the sounds from below roused him from slumber and he got up and stretched. Time to hunt. He fixed his hat, pulled on his vest and slid on a pair of aviators to shield his eyes from the harsh sun that spilled down. He slid the muzzle of his rifle out of the window, checking his watch. Nearly ten. He looked down his scope and took a breath to relax his muscles. His hearing was impeccable; he always heard his prey before they were within range, it was a skill he never regretted picking up from his days as a tracker. Then again, people proved to be far more satisfying to kill.

Minutes later, the sounds of approaching prey were close and nearing the corner that would leave them open. Quick. Clean. Sniper knelt down and held his eye to the scope, his finger hugging the trigger. He slowed his breathing. All the world ceased to exist, except for the poor mug about to round the corner. Right on cue, the RED Scout came barrelling round. The kids speed was almost inhuman as his legs took on the form of a blur. But for all his agility, the boy was no match for the BLU Snipers accuracy when he was ready.

"Boom…" Sniper whispered in unison with the REDs body sprawling across the field, blood spraying the sand - a beautiful red stroke on a fresh canvas. "Headshot."

That day, the RED Spy was on a rampage, killing everyone at least once and saving a special viciousness for his BLU counterpart. Spy rivalry, Sniper figured. The BLU Spy, in the end, won a solid victory by getting his hands on the RED Intel, admittedly not an uncommon result. Sniper slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed back to base to celebrate with a few beers. The Spy rarely acknowledged him, but Sniper didn't fuss.

"Good vork today!" Heavy, the teams Russian Goliath, called over to Sniper as he passed. Beside him was the much shorter Engineer, an egghead from Texas who nodded and offered a smile.

"Thanks, mate." Sniper nodded. Everyone on the team liked him well enough. There was just something about him that was inherently likeable. He was friendly, but not overly so. He kept to himself, but didn't brush off his team mates if they engaged him. One could say he was the most 'normal' of the nine, if such a thing existed. He did, after all, murder people. If anyone did have a problem with him, it was the Spy.

From where the Frenchman stood in the mess hall, the Spy studied the Sniper as he toasted with the rest of the team. The victory _he_ had won them. The Australian was lanky though not scrawny, and not terribly good-looking; at least not in the tall-dark-and-handsome way that Spy was. His hair was combed back and always covered by an old hat. He'd clearly never had his teeth straightened, so when he smiled it came out as a lop-sided grin. Much like his team, Snipers sense of humour was somewhat more juvenile than one would expect from a 'professional'. The Spy snorted. That man is not a _professional_, he thought. Sniper looked over at his masked colleague, sensing hostility. When the taller man just grinned and looked away, Spy felt his blood boil He did not know why he had taken such a disliking to his fellow assassin. If anything, the Australians penchant for minding his own business (a trait rare amongst the Teufort nine) should have made him the most tolerable. These past few weeks, Spy had felt a deep distaste for the Sniper bubbling beneath his skin. He'd always had a special hatred reserved for the RED Sniper – though the man did pelt piss at him – but his new found animosity for his own team mate amounted to were Spy was sure the rest of his team were picking up on it. The Sniper himself hadn't seemed to notice, or maybe he just didn't care. The thought only irritated Spy further and he eventually sauntered away, waving off the questioning Scout and not joining in the celebration.

Watching the Spy's retreating back, Sniper clucked his tongue and mentally shrugged. Though he hadn't taken notice until the Engineer had brought it up in casual conversation, Sniper was now quite aware of the Spy's apparent change in attitude towards him. It confused him, but it didn't bother him.

The Spy wasn't exactly the friendliest on the team and he had a habit of boasting about his many expensive belongings - something the more working-class men on the team didn't appreciate. Still, he was good at his job, which was enough to earn him their respect. The Sniper included. For all the backstabbing and double-crossing he inflicted upon the REDs, he'd proven himself completely loyal to BLU. Nevertheless, there was always tension. Always lingering. The rest of the mercenaries may not have been fond of his pompousness, but the truth was - the Spy was a winner. The whole of BLU knew he was, including the Spy himself.

It made working with him rather tedious.

Now alone, he lit a cigarette en route to his room, at the back of the BLU base. Besides, he drank wine, not cheap beer. He had _class_, unlike the rest of those imbeciles. The sound of Snipers laughter rung out down the hall, bouncing off the walls with the Heavy's and the Demoman's. Spy rolled his eyes.

He would need that wine.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

It had come as a complete shock to everyone.

Spy hadn't mentioned a thing to his own team; that he'd been working after hours. Then again, it would have been out of character of him to do so. During the day's battle, he'd revealed to his team that his RED counterpart had been having an affair with their BLU Scouts mother. The boy had been justifiably horrified when he found out, and the photos were all the evidence he needed.

"'The hell's dis crap!? Ain't dis breakin' some kinda _protocol_ 'r somthin'!?" Scout was pacing.

"I'm afraid not." said Spy as he eyed the photos, still indignant after Soldier had shot him. The RED Spy really had been giving him a run for his money recently - his plan had been ingenious. He had disguised himself at the Scout and gotten into the intelligence room with Soldier and Heavy. Those idiots, of course, had no idea. But then, even the Spy didn't catch on, not when his 'Scout' had acted so repulsed by the photos. In the end his own BLU Soldier had killed him - his own damn teammate - and the RED Spy finished the others off before leaving with their Intel. Winning their match.

"Nah, no way, dis's gotta be breakin' some kinda rule, man, c'mon!" Scout shouted up at the speaker the announcer spoke through. "Yo lady! I'm talkin' to you!"

Spy had used his outside connections to dig up some dirt on his RED counterpart. It was a risky move and, unfortunately, produced little in the way of results other than infuriating Scout.

"Jesus, my _eyes_!" Scout continued to yell up at the speaker as the pornographic photos of his mother made their way around the rest of the team, who grinned and nudged one another. The only one who didn't take a peek was Sniper, who was still recovering from the humiliating beating he'd taken from the RED Spy.

"Next time," he said as he rubbed his neck "I'll get that slimy spook."

"He has gotten a lot better, gotta give 'im that." Noted Engineer. Pyro nodded in agreement.

"Or per'aps, you are all getting worse." Spy thought aloud.

"Ya lost with the rest of us, y'know." Sniper glared over at him, but Spy just snorted, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"If my own colleagues were not so incompetent as to mistake zeir own for a RED, we would have won." He paused "Or rather, I would have won."

"There ain't no _I_ in team, son" said Engineer.

"Zere is where I come from."

"Well we are not _in_ France, rifle-dropper," said Soldier "If you hadn't been disguised as a RED Spy then you wouldn't have gotten shot in the first place!"

"I was not _disguised_ as a RED Spy you sluggish simpleton," said Spy "Per'aps if you bought a helmet zat actually fit, as well as some common sense, you would notice zese things." The Soldier leapt for him, but Demoman caught him and hauled him back as the Spy stood unfazed, his lidded eyes not even looking at the yelling American as he fought against the Scot.

"Calm yer sham laddie," said Demoman "he's no worth it." When the Spy burst out laughing, it took Demoman and Heavy to hold the Soldier back.

..

The rest of the week passed and, in the end, nothing came of the RED Spy's affair with Scouts mother. The BLU Spy, however, became increasingly colder with his team mates after their performance that day, after _all_ his hard work. Especially, he singled out the Sniper. For the sake of professionalism, the Sniper decided to talk to his elusive colleague. It wasn't easy, but he found him in the library after work one evening.

"Y'doin?" Sniper stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. The Spy was standing on the table top in an attempt to reach the ceiling light, though it wasn't quite low enough. He had a light bulb in his hands and a discarded book lay at his feet.

"Just relaxing on zhe table, obviously." Sniper took the sarcasm silently. The Spy was _trying_ to change the light bulb but was just a little too short, stretching up on black tiptoes. Sniper set down his coffee, came across to the desk, and sceptically gazed up.

"Can't reach?"

Spy made a face at him. "Did you acquire your exceptional observational skills in ze Outback, _mate_?" Alas, for all his stretching and cussing in French, he couldn't reach. Still, he refused to give up while a pair of eyes were present to witness it. Especially not _those_ eyes.

Sniper nudged his leg. "Move over, Nancy" The taller man joined him on the table "lemme do it."

"Are you sure you can handle a task zat cannot be solved by shooting blindly and hoping for ze best?" He was pushed aside and within seconds, they both balanced on the small surface, Sniper fiddling with the lampshade. He was a few inches taller than Spy, so he managed to successfully pin the pesky bulb into place and light beamed down upon them.

"There, not a single bullet wasted." The crooked grin was back and Spy had to will himself not to snort at those dogteeth. They stood there, nose to nose atop the table quietly for a moment.

"Well done, you 'ave finally learned a new skill." Spy's gratitude was insincere, but at least it wasn't absent. After a moment of just staring at one another, Spy quirked an eyebrow, hopped off the surface and made for the door with his book. He suddenly didn't feel like reading here.

"Spook," said Sniper.

"_Bushman_."

"Uh …" he didn't actually know what to say "I jus' … well, y'know, lately…" he chuckled hoarsely at his own inability to speak. He just wasn't good with people. It had been a mistake for him to even bother, especially with a weasel like Spy. "Ferget it."

Spy looked him up and down. "Fine." was all he offered before turning on his heel and exiting the room, leaving Sniper leaning on the table with his brow knitted. Spy's dislike of him hadn't bothered him, until now.

..

The following week during the battle, Spy found himself in the RED Intel room – but with no briefcase in sight. Fortunately for him, the RED Spy smoked a different brand of cigarette and he instantly picked up that he'd recently been here, or still was.

"Shouldn't you be looking for our briefcase and not your own?" Spy addressed the empty room. Leaving no pause for dramatic tension, the RED Spy decloaked, sitting cross-legged on the desk. His cover blown, he quickly brought out a fresh cigarette and lit it.

"Impressive," he commended his rival "cigarette?" the BLU stared at him, wondering what type of game this was. He put the calculations together though.

"Zis is about my uncovering your _rencontres_ with Scouts Mozher, yes?"

"Yes." RED admitted.

"I'm afraid ze damage is done. Fortunately for you, ze higher ups do not seem to care."

"I am not here to chat wizh ze enemy about what cannot be changed." His face was stern beneath the ski mask. In fact, the REDs whole posture was uncharacteristically stiff. "I have disabled ze security camera of zis room for ze purpose of our talk." He paused. "I have a proposition for you."

"I'm intrigued." The BLU said flatly. "Out with it, zen. I don't have all day."

"Very well. You are good at snooping around monsieur – you're almost as good as _me_." He took a drag of his cigarette "but I 'ave information I know zat you cannot access, and zherefore, information I know you sorely-"

"We are in ze middle of battle _mon ami_, so I suggest you get to ze point before I get bored and kill you."

The RED glared. "I want ze name of ze contact who got you zose photographs." The BLU eye'd his rival intently. Could it be that his affair with the Scouts mother was not a cruel taunt, but rather, an intimate relationship?

"If I start ratting out my sources, I will lose them." He remained cool under the REDs death stare. "You would need to make it _very_ worth my while."

"But, of course. I have information – very private information – zings zat are not in either RED or BLUs secret documents."

"Do not insult me." Said BLU. "I have all ze information I'll ever need on you and your team, ze photos of you and your, ah, _amante_ should be proof of zat."

"Not my team." The RED said quietly. "We are frequently given checks to make sure zat zere are no traitors among comrades, yes? If you are discovered snooping on we REDs, zat's fine. But what if you were ever caught snooping around your own men? You'd be in a lot of trouble zen, wouldn't you? So much so, zat I bet you haven't tried … have you?"

He was right. Naturally, the BLU Spy had wanted dirt on each and every one of his new co-workers months ago when he'd first met them. Not for treacherous reasons; just natural curiosity. However, the Administrator was a paranoid old wench who took matters concerning internal secrets very seriously, doing regular checks for spies and traitors. If she ever found her own Spy hunting for private information on his _own_ team, losing his job would be the least of his concerns.

"What are you offering?"

"I have files on each of your team mates. Information zat nobody else knows. Give me ze name of ze man who cost me my relationship wiz mademoiselle, and I give you a file of your choice."

"One file?" BLU raised his brow higher.

"Do not get greedy, mon ami, I assure you zat one-"

_BOOOOM!_

The chaos from the battlefield was quickly moving closer to the Intel room, both Spies turned to glare at the noise for interrupting their conversation.

"We 'ave ran out of time," announced the RED "name your teammate and zeir file is yours. Just give me your sources name!"

The BLU held no love for the source and knew he'd trade up the information. But for what file? The Engineer? The Medic? Or ….

His eyes lit up wickedly. "My contacts name is Vicente LaChance, zough he operates under ze alias '_Mouffette'_"

The RED nodded. "Your choice?"

The BLU grinned. "Ze Sniper." At that the RED grinned too, handing over the file. "A pleasure doing business with you."

They both disappeared into smoke simultaneously.

..

The information complied in the file was sparse and, initially, very dull. Spy grit his teeth at the thought of his rival snickering behind his back at the unfair trade. He shouldn't have trusted him, he thought. But then, there was one sentence - right at the very end which proved to be most curious. Snipers reason for joining BLU in the first place.

'_-at the beginning of May, 1968, Mr Mundy's lover* ended their relationship. Shortly thereafter, Mr Mundy signed up for BLU, accepting the terms of his contract unquestioningly.'_

At the bottom of the page in the footnotes, where names and other minor details were kept, the * marked his lovers name; Richard Finneran.

"Oh my." A smirk pulled at his lips. _Richard_. The Snipers lover had been a man.

..


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

How to go about this? That was the question the Spy had to consider.

He could corner the Australian in his primitive little nest and tell him outright that he knew his secret. With leverage like that, he'd probably be able to blackmail the poor fool into anything - there were certainly more than a few men on the team who would object to working alongside a queer.

The problem was, the bushman did not have anything of interest to the Spy, be it information or possession. The man kept to himself, so likely knew little that the Spy did not already know. Possessions? The Sniper was a walking advertisement for anti-hygiene. What little he did own, the Spy was certain he had no interest in obtaining.

It was funny, really, that he hadn't caught on earlier. The Sniper didn't by any means _look_ how most people expected queers to look, but the odd sign had been there. After all, Sniper had been the only man on the team who didn't sneak a peak at the pornographic photos of Scouts mother. Even Scout had looked, much to his dismay, but Sniper hadn't even batted an eyelash. He never looked at nudey mags like the others, never talked about the fairer sex or paused when a beautiful woman appeared on the TV in the living quarters. Never gushed about a lady back home like Engineer or badmouthed an unfaithful ex-wife like Medic. In fact, despite these very subtle signs, it was the Spy who often had his sexuality slighted by the Soldier and the Scout whenever arguments broke out.

Spy wasn't what he would deem a homosexual, but to him sex was sex. If a person possessed qualities that he found attractive, he would take them to bed; be it a beautiful woman or a handsome man. Sexuality, to the Spy, shouldn't be viewed as so simplistic that one could sort it into two categories. A spectrum, perhaps.

As his thoughts wondered to his own appetites, the possibility struck him that he could get a bedfellow out of this. He didn't like the Sniper, actually, he rather disliked him. Then again, he rarely liked the people he took to bed. It made disappearing the next morning more satisfying. Spy still had ongoing sexual encounters with a woman back in France who he was fairly certain had tried to kill him multiple times, but she _was_ fantastic in bed. The Sniper wasn't much to look at, but the fact was the Spy had been out in this barren wasteland without intimate company for over eight months. Not even his psychopathic lady-friend. Hell, even his RED rival had found a solution to this problem by igniting a relationship with the mother of one of his enemies.

He smoked in contemplation. Sure, he could bed the Sniper if he wanted to. The Spy could have anyone he wanted.

The truth was, it was lonely out in the grubby desert. Using the Sniper was risky because he was a team mate and, although he was generally placid, he could lash out when provoked. If worst came to worst, Spy could always use this newly gained information to force the Australian to resign. Either way, he'd find a way to make this situation entertaining.

The next day the Spy watched Sniper as he made himself a mug of coffee – one sugar.

Spy Always found it unusual, how different people appeared when you looked at them from a different perspective, as he was doing now. He observed the Sniper and his movements, now with the knowledge that he was a homosexual. Viewing anyone as a potential bed-mate casts them in a different light, but the change in Sniper was almost dramatic. Spy had always thought of him as a filthy, bedraggled bushman. But now that he looked at him, he wasn't _completely_ unappealing.

There was no dirt under his fingernails, though he was evidently a nail-biter. His shirt was creased and had the odd knick, but his pants were in good condition – far better condition than that ragged old hat. His leather boots had been wiped down, too. Sniper wasn't attractive in a manner that Spy was used to; he wasn't boyishly good looking, nor darkly handsome in a gentlemanly way. He was rugged looking. _Dishevelled_.

Spy had obviously been staring for too long because the bushman turned and looked at him. When the Spy smirked, the Australian shot him a look and turned back to his coffee. He wasn't what you would call a 'morning-person'.

Spy would wait a while to approach him.

..

"Bonjour." The Spy appeared behind Sniper as he cleaned his rifle.

"Jesus," he turned, his cleaning rod retreating from his barrel. "Don' bloody do tha'." He grumbled and turned back to his work. His rifle was completely disassembled and layed out on the table next to various sized screwdrivers and cleaning solvents.

"My apologies," Said Spy "I thought your hearing was supposed to be keener zan zat."

"Piss off. M'busy."

Spy had, for the past week, been watching the Sniper from a distance. But more importantly, he'd made it _clear_ that he'd been watching him. Grinning over at him like a hyena. Sniper had reacted suspiciously, though he never confronted the Frenchmen about his unusual behaviour. When the Spy lingered, Sniper turned to eye him.

"Wotchu _want_, Spook?"

"You mean besidez a big house, a nice car and a beautiful woman? Nozhing." He smiled innocently. "But zen again, zat is what we're all here working for, yes?" Sniper grumbled and turned to resume his work, deciding not to participate in whatever game Spy was brewing up. "Or per'aps you already have zese things? You certainly have an … interesting van."

"You leave me van be."

"It _is_ also technically your house?" Sniper ignored him. "Do you 'appen to have a beautiful woman hidden in zere as well?"

Sniper wavered, though not too noticeably. "Oh yeah, whole group of 'em that make me dinner an' wash me socks." Spy grinned at him. "Now, 'less you got any more stupid questions, I got a rifle t'maintain here."

"Ah, but I did come for a favour, you see."

"An' whot'd that be?"

"I must borrow a screwdrivers," said Spy "to reset one of my watches."

"S'that so?" Sniper turned and pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb to stare at his colleague. He resembled a cat waiting for his cream.

"Oui, I would have asked ze labourer, but he 'as locked himself in his workshop again." They stared at one another, Sniper trying to gauge Spy's intent as he stood patiently.

"Fine. Size y'need?" Sniper returned his gaze to his cleaning tools and looked over the various screwdrivers, judging their sizes. Suddenly, the Spy was behind him, his presence warm as he stooped over the sitting Sniper, pressing into his back as he reached for a screwdriver himself. He kept one hand on the back of Snipers chair and his face came level to the Bushman's ear as he examined the sizes.

"Zis one will do fine, I believe." Said Spy. "I will bring it back when I am finished."

"Right."

"_Merci_." He left without another word, twirling the tool in his fingers. Sniper watched him go with a confused expression before checking his pockets to see if the Frenchman had pickpocketed him, but he hadn't. _What the bloody hell was all that about?_

..

The days came and went and, true to his nature, the Sniper remained suspicious and kept the Spy under a cautious gaze. He'd spotted Spy on the battlefield through his scope, staring up at him. Or smirking over at him from his cigarette in the mess hall. It had been a gradual process, but Sniper was fairly certain that the Spy's whole personality had flipped on him.

"Ze ladies, ze like a man who knows how to treat zem right." Said Spy in response to Scout's opinion on the fairer sex. The lad was one of the few mercenaries who initiated conversation with the Frenchmen, though only because he barely knew how to _stop_ talking.

"I know how'ta treat a girl!"

"A baseball game is not a date, boy. You keep zat idea in your 'ead, and you will die a virgin."

"Hey, I ain't a virgin!"

"Go oan then smart arse, How'd ye treat a lassie then?" Demoman joined in the teasing just for the hell of it, though he didn't look at Spy.

"Booze." Scout stated matter-of-fact.

"Aye," agreed Demoman "right enough."

"Oh _please_," Spy rolled his eyes "a woman needs to feel like a queen. Simply getting zem drunk on cheap champagne can only work for so long before you end up be'ind bars."

Scout snorted "Bet you'd like it behind bars." he looked so pleased with himself that Demoman gave him a high five.

"And why is zat?" Spy asked in feigned wonder.

"_Duh_, cuz you're a freakin' fag." Spy just grinned and turned his gaze slowly to Sniper, who paused in sipping his coffee. Time seemed to freeze as they locked eyes, and Spy smirked mischievously.

"Let us say zat I am." Said Spy, looking back to Scout. "Zat would mean zat a 'fag' had slept wizh more beautiful women until now, zan you ever will in your whole miserable existence. Tell me, which is more embarrassing?" Scout looked confused as he took in Spy's words before puffing out his chest defensively.

"Wait, you callin' me queer!?" he got out of his chair. Spy burst out laughing at the boy's sheer stupidity as Demoman sat him back down with a hand heavy on his shoulder, shaking his head.

"Honestly lad, yer hopeless sometimes."

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"I wid be if ye'd use yer heed fer once!" As the Scout and the Scotsman began to bicker, the Spy turned back to the coffee counter, only to see that Sniper had already left. Later that night he took a stroll around to the Snipers camper.

The sun was setting and the sky was a beautiful shade of pink, but the air was chilly. Sniper must have been relaxing outside because he was folding up a deck chair to put away as Spy approached him. It was the Sniper who spoke first.

"I know yer there." He said simply, not turning as the Spy decloaked.

"Astute, for once."

"Bringin' my screwdriver back are ya?"

"My apologies Bushman, I seem to 'ave misplaced it." He smiled and crushed the dud of his cigarette under his heel. After packing away his chair, the Sniper turned and walked up to the Frenchman, standing inches away to glare at him.

"Jus' whot th'bloody hell are ya playing at, Spook?"

Keeping his composure, Spy simply brought out a fresh cigarette. "If your screwdriver meant zat much to you, I will buy you a new one." He lit the cigarette with a gloved hand. "Heaven knows I could afford a _much_ better quality one." He blew smoke into Snipers face.

"Yer playin' games with me, an' we both know it. Ye've been snoopin' around, actin' all weird an' … an' _talkative_." His voice was low, dangerous. "Ya don't think I haven't seen ya watchin' me?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know damn well whot I mean. I dunno what th'hell yer upto, but I'm bloody warning you – it stops. Right now."

The spy shifted on his feet, the grin still present. "What stops, mon ami?" Then, Sniper gave him the most hateful look the Spy had ever seen from him, his intent vicious. The threat was clear. Sniper wordlessly turned and made his way into his van, slamming the door behind him.

The Spy smiled. My, my, he thought. He'd certainly got his comrade on edge – and he hadn't even told him what he knew yet.

..


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

The Sniper refused to acknowledge the Spy for the next week. Most of the mercenaries ignored the Spy, but then again, he ignored all of them anyway. After a particularly sore loss on BLUs part, Soldier decided that someone was to blame. Predictably, that person was the Spy. It had been a vicious exchange. The Frenchman hadn't really been himself recently, not that anyone noticed. He was still a professional, unlike some.

Now usually, the Spy would destroy anyone who dared challenge him to a verbal duel, but he'd been humiliated by his RED counterpart several times that day and even the amiable Engineer had lost his cool and had a go him. Was he distracted or something? He was the easier target for his team, as far as venting after a loss was concerned. He tried so little to get in their good graces and was always so sly that his team practically sought him out for blame when the opportunity presented itself. Especially Soldier.

The day's argument ended with nearly the whole of BLU accusing Spy of causing them the day's battle, resulting in his storming out of the mess hall with a string of French curses. Nobody had expected it – the Spy never normally lost his cool and let their ganging up get to him. Then again, after such a difficult day, having your own colleagues shove the blame onto you would be hard on anyone. Even the Spook.

For reasons he would never fully understand, the Sniper decided to follow him.

"Spook." He was ignored. "Hey, _Spook_," Spy rounded a corner, so Sniper jogged after him. By the time he turned the corner, the Spy had vanished. "Ah, piss." He stood, his shoulders slumped.

"Come to have your say?" the invisible voice asked. "You didn't have your chance back zere, thanks to ze ozhers." The formless voice was circling around him, sizing him up no doubt.

"The lads're jus' tired. They don't mean it." At that, the Spy revealed himself with a quizzical stare, bringing out one of his fancy French cigarettes. "So jus', y'know, don't let it get t'ya or nothin'." Sniper added quietly.

"What is zis, hm? Mockery?"

"Not mockin' nobody. Jus' don't like seein' the blame bein' heaped onto one man. We're a team. When we lose, we all hold responsibility."

"It's funny, zat when _I_ am friendly to my team, it is deemed to be mockery."

"S'cause it's you" shrugged Sniper "Yer different." That caused Spy's air of cool to fade as if a storm cloud had just formed over his head. His eye's narrowed to slits.

"_Different_. How?"

"I dunno, you jus' are. Yer never friendly t'any of us. Not honestly, anyway."

"And you think you would know _honestly_ if it slapped you in ze face?" asked Spy. "How quaint."

"See? I came out here t'check on ya n'yer insultin' me."

Spy snorted. "You - All of you have no idea what I do for zis team. To be a Spy is to give up your very life. I have worked loyally by your side for almost a year, yet, you all shun be because I am not always _friendly_? Zen, after all I do, you have ze audacity to tell me zat _I_ never honestly make an effort, when zat is all I have been doing with _you_ for weeks? I am ze only person _on_ zis team who works for his money. You would all be nozhing without me zere to watch your backs – to earn ze majority of our victories. You are all incompetent, ungrateful-"

"Wow, wow. _We're_ ungrateful?" Sniper interrupted him. "An' whot the hell 'ave you got to want after, eh? Yer rich. Yer smart. Yer handsome. Ya love yer job. Yer always wiv a beautiful lady on yer arm. You got the whole package an' ya still bitch 'bout yer life, as if it's all meanin'less. You know whot the rest'a us have? No money, no family, no education – no bloody _chance_. We took this job because of debt or jus' to be somewhere that finally accepts us for who we _are_. You got it all, yet ya piss it away right in front'a the rest'a us - so don'tchu come 'ere lookin' fer sympathy Spook, cause ya don't _deserve_ it."

"You know nothing." Spy's tone was flat. "What use is money when what you want cannot be bought? What use are good looks when they do not attract the one you desire? What use is '_having it all'_ when all you have, you've never craved? If you are so shallow as to assume zat money, women and a job are ze ingredients for 'appiness, _mon ami_, zen you are more of a fool zan I ever thought you were."

"Then whot the hell d'you _want_, Spy? Whot else'll make ya happy – _enlighten_ me?"

"To feel!" the mask blurted out, and the sudden volume of his voice surprised them both. The Spy found it hard to collect himself immediately. "You all speak as if you have _nozhing_. You all envy me, as if I am somehow better off because I can buy fine suits, food, women and whatever ze hell else I like. You are all _ignorant_. Ze bond you share zat you refuse to extend to me; ze trust you have, ze feelings you have for one anozher – zat _cannot_ be bought. Am I not a contributing member of zhis team? Do I not risk my life on ze battlefield every day with ze rest of you? Zen why – _why_ do you all look at me with distrustful eyes? Why do your conversations cease when I enter a room? Why, after _all_ zis time, do you all watch me as if I am your enemy?"

When the Sniper simply stood dumbly, the Spy sneered at him with such disgust that Sniper thought he was going to spit in his face. "No answer from ze man who knows what ze important things in life are?" his tone was calm once more, quiet, and the anger in his eyes turned to something else. Disappointment? "Zat's what I thought." He shook his head "To think zat I was actually starting to-" he caught himself, though his composure was lost "ah…"

"Startin' to whot?"

"Nozhing," Spy finished his cigarette and looked over the Sniper unenthusiastically. "Forget it." He cloaked and disappeared before the taller man could say anything.

..

A few days passed before they spoke again.

"Spook?" Spy turned to stare deadpan at Sniper for a brief moment before turning back to his book, choosing to ignore him. Sniper heaved a sigh.

"Look, m'here to apologise. 'bout the other day an' … I coulda jus' left it."

"You would 'ave been better off doing so."

"Oh come off it, will ya? M'pissin' me pride away by comin' here t'offer you whot we both know you want." At that the Spy did turn, slowly, to face his colleague with an almost suspicious stare.

"And what would zat be?"

"An opportunity." Said Sniper. "You gotta understand Spook, it's not that we don't trust ya – 'course we do - we wouldn't bloody work with ya if we didn't. It's jus' … I mean, Jesus yer not stupid mate, y'must know that it's yer own fault!" he threw his hands up in frustration.

"Your apology is heart-warming."

"Y'know what I mean." Spy lifted a thin brow at him. "At the start when we all got t'know one another, you never showed any interest. Ya were always insultin' everyone an' goin' about with yer nose in the air. Didn't make it easy for anyone to want to get to know ya, an' when anybody even _tried_ ya made it pretty clear you weren't interested in talkin' about yourself. Well, besides how much money you spent on yer fancy suits an' that. It wos you who never trusted us, not the otha way about. I mean, ya coulda joined us for a beer at any time, but ya always said it tasted like piss."

"It did." Spy said. "And if I recall correctly, I was never invited."

"Jesus, Spy, it weren't VIP only. Ya coulda jus' came an' sat with us. All you ever did was moan about how cheap our taste in beer wos. S'hard to wanna get to know someone who does nothin' but insult you. Sure, Heavy could do with losin' some weight and yeah Solly really could do with seeing a therapist, but you don't bloody _tell_ 'em that – 'least not until ya know 'em better."

Sniper scratched the back of his neck and chuckled awkwardly but the Spy just stared at him, unamused.

"Look, tonight me, Engie and Demo are gonna have a few beers an' play some poker. It'll be in the mess hall, prob'ly 'bout seven or so. I'm _invitin'_ you to join us." Said Sniper. "Don't throw it away, yeah?"

After a long pause Spy turned away. "I will think about it."

That night at seven o'clock there was no sign of Spy. Nor did he appear at eight. The hours came and went, the game came to an end and Sniper retired to his van – twenty bucks poorer no less. Spy wasn't seen anywhere around the base all night. Sniper shook his head to himself, throwing his hat on top of his vest.

"Your loss." He whispered, climbing into bed.

..

The Spy downed the rest of his fancy red wine like water and slammed the glass on the countertop. Had anybody else been present to see him, he would have acted as cool as ever. But hidden here, in his locked, back room of the base, he was free to tear his mask off and swear and smoke more frantically than normal. He ran ungloved fingers through his black hair that stuck to his scalp and then checked his watch.

It was almost eight.

He already knew he wasn't going to that ridiculous poker game with the drunken fool, the hick from Bee Cave and the Sniper. He had many names for the Sniper and, much to his own surprise, not all of them were completely derogatory anymore.

If there was one this in this persistent, parasitic world that the Frenchman could not stand, it was losing control of his own plans. Any and all situations looked best when they were wrapped around his finger. The bottle of wine lay empty as Spy picked up the cab number he'd written down when he'd first arrived here and he headed out to the pay phone, sitting just outside the base.

Clearly he'd just been around these idiots for too long.

He'd set out to either show up or bed the Sniper. So, why then, was it the Spy who felt fucked?

..


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

The Sniper was sprawled and snoring in a less than dignified manner, when the payphone he habitually parked his van by rang. The noise was absurd in the dead of night, silencing the chirping crickets. He awoke immediately, the unexpected noise igniting his instinctive need never to be caught off guard. When he observed no threat, he groped for his wristwatch and leaned up so the moonlight highlighted the face. It was two in the morning.

He groaned and headed for the phone, not bothering to pull on his boots as his mind became fuzzy and disorientated from sleepiness. It was cold outside, encasing him before he even stepped off his van. When he picked up the receiver, it was a French accent on the other end. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Spy?" mumbled Sniper. "What y'doin'?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Do you _know_ what time it is?"

"No." he paused. "I need you to come and get me." There was another brief silence.

"S'goin on? Where are ya?"

"Onslow, outside Teufort."

"S'goin on, Spook?"

There was a sigh on the other end. "Look – can you just come and get me? I don't have enough money for a cab." Said Spy. "And it is freezing."

"Fine," he'd continue his interrogation in person "where did ya say ya where?"

The Spy gave him directions, though his teeth chattered slightly as he spoke. Sniper hung up the receiver and hurried into his van to escape the merciless cold that bit his bare feet and arms. It must have been below zero out there. At this hour the roads where dead and it only took Sniper twenty minutes or so to reach his destination after pulling on some clothes. The Spy was where he said he would be, leaning against the inside of a shabby phone booth with his arms crossed over himself. His suit jacket was gone – and so was his mask.

For the first time since they'd met, the Sniper suddenly became concerned about what was going on with his secretive colleague. He leaned over and opened the passenger door as he pulled up beside the booth. He said nothing.

When the man looked up, his breath floated before him in white, frosty clouds. His teeth were chattering as he climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door closed without a word. Sniper pushed the heater up full and steered the van around to head back.

"You alright?" he asked lamely.

Spy didn't answer him. It was dark outside and even darker in the van so he hadn't got a good look at his face. He didn't want to make it too obvious that he was trying to get a good look at him, so he decided to wait until they got back to the base. However when they neared, the Spy finally spoke up.

"Do not take me back to ze base." He said.

"Whot? Where you wonna go?"

No reply. His teeth still chattered despite the heater and he kept his head turned away from the driver's side. Although Sniper couldn't see his face, he could tell from his passengers body language that he was glaring out of the window.

"Spy?" Sniper slowed his driving pace slightly. "Where you wonna go?" he repeated.

"Anywhere." it was clear the Spy had no idea what he wanted, he just wanted out of the cold. Sniper sighed heavily.

"You wonna tell me whots goin' on?"

"Not particularly."

"Spy."

"Do you 'ave a cigarette?" now the Spy turned fully to look at his colleague and, under the dim glow of the street lamps along the road, Sniper looked upon his face for the first time. He looked to be in his late thirties, with chiselled cheekbones and thin features. His eyes, like those of a Siberian husky, normally helped to make him look arrogant but now, unmasked, he just look tired. The thick stubble on his chin and dark circles under his eyes suggested that he was desperately in need of sleep.

"Will ya answer me if I give you one?" the Spy nodded and a cigarette was handed over, which Sniper lit for him.

"Thank you."

"So, ya gonna tell me why yer out here at this time with no jacket, mask or money?"

"I had a, how you say, _bad night_."

"No shit, Sherlock." Sniper stared at him seriously. "Has somethin' happened?"

Spy shook his head and rested his face in his hand not holding the cigarette. "I don't want to talk about it. I am very tired."

"You said ye'd answer me."

"Have I not?" he looked up. "I told you I had a bad night."

Sniper glared at him but his own exhaustion had caught up with him and he found himself unable to push further. If the Spy said he wasn't going to talk, then he wasn't going to. "Fine. Be like that." The next few minutes were silent, but when the base came into view Spy spoke up.

"Could I stay here for the night?"

Sniper gaped at him for a long moment. Spy did not ask for favours – he loathed being perceived as dependant on others. Yet, he'd asked the Sniper for two favours within the space of the same hour. He'd noted the Spooks unusual behaviour as of late but tonight was shaping up to be downright bizarre. Maybe he was on drugs or something.

"The back of me van's not exactly build for two people, mate."

"I'm not asking for your bed, bushman" Spy sighed "just that you allow me your passenger seat until morning." He ran his shaky hands through his dark hair, trying to look anywhere other than Sniper. "I will be gone before you wake up." He added.

"Alright," nodded Sniper "the best I can give ya is a quilt though, only got one spare."

"That is fine." The rest of the drive was silent. When Sniper pulled into his usual spot by the pay phone, he got out and climbed into the back for the quilt without saying anything else. Spy accepted the blanket with a nod, wrapping it tightly around himself. Sniper stared at him, somehow surprised to see him unmasked all over again. It was so unusual to see the Spy unmasked, but even more disconcerting to see him so drained. There was no name calling, no smart-ass comments and no mocking his van – just quiet what, embarrassment? Letting the man sleep, Sniper returned to his own bed and glanced at his watch. It was three in the morning. He lay awake for nearly another hour, pondering his teammate and any reasonable explanation for tonight. Sleep came before he could find one.

True to his word, when the Sniper awoke four hours later, the Spy was already gone.

..

That evening at work BLU won a victory and spirits were at an all-time high after their losing streak. Demoman drunkenly hugged Sniper as he came down from his next and laughed obnoxiously.

"We did it lad!" he said "bloody brilliant ye were!"

"Thanks, mate" said Sniper "We got those wankas good."

Inside the mess hall the Spy was sitting discussing the day's events with the Medic with a coy grin, refusing to look at Sniper. It was as if nothing unusual had ever happened. The Australian had never been very subtle, though, and he walked up to him.

"Oi Spy," he called over "Can I talk to ya fer a bit?" The Spy lifted an eyebrow as if the request had been completely out of the blue before standing and excusing himself.

"What is zis about, zen?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Just today," lied Sniper, figuring the Spook was playing up for the eavesdropping Scout "That no-good RED Spy got me thinking is all."

"I see," nodded the Frenchman as he stalked past "come zen, let us get some fresh air as we talk."

Outside, the two BLUs stood smoking for an awkward few minutes before the Sniper finally spoke. "So yer jus' gonna act as if last night didn't happen then?"

"Zat was ze plan."

"_Spook_." Sniper pinched his own nose. "I helped ya out last night. 'very least ya could do is be honest with me."

The Spy took an excessively long drag at his cigarette as he thought about that. "You want to know why I was out zere?"

"Well, yeah."

"It … it is not something I am comfortable with discussing." Said Spy. "Frankly, it is embarrassing."

"We all have our vices, mate." When he said that, Spy could see the truth in Snipers eyes. "Were ya at a crack den?"

Spy lifted an eyebrow slowly. "No?"

"It's fine if ya were," he was assured "I don't judge."

"_Sniper_," Spy closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from looking too offended. "I was not at a crack house. I was satiating other sins. "

"Oh?" slowly, realisation dawned. "Oh."

"Yes. So you understand my predicament."

"Hooker run off with yer wallet then?" Sniper laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets, a goofy grin plastered to his face. "Never thought ya'd let a lady get one over on ya Mr French-lady-killer."

"Not a lady." He said, his eyes staring hard at Sniper. The grin faded and the Australian found himself gawking.

"Oh…"

"And now you fully understand my predicament." Spy took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and the burning tip coloured his face orange. Sniper fidgeted uncomfortably.

"So yer, ah, yer…"

"Is zat a problem?"

"No, no," Sniper said quietly. "Like I said, I don't judge."

"Good," said Spy "Neither do I." He gave the Australian a wicked, inviting smile before flicking the end of his cigarette away and returning to the mess hall. Sniper watched him go, his Adams apple bobbing.

Of course, the whole thieving male-prostitute tale was a lie, but the Spy's purpose in telling it had been achieved.

He was in control again.

..


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

"You know." Said Sniper, looking out into the desert. "Don't you?"

Spy feigned ignorance and stared ahead, fiddling with a cufflink. "I know many things. Please elaborate."

"Ya know about _me_." Sniper scratched his stubble, not looking at his teammate. "Ya know about my … about my preferences."

Spy allowed a long silence to stretch out between them as he studied the Bushman's posture, he was stiff, knuckles white. He raised the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, then blew a line of smoke rings.

"That's why ya told me about you. Ain't it?"

"You think so?"

"Ya didn't have ta tell me. In fact, ya risked getting into a _helluva_ lotta bother by doin' that. Ya coulda jus' left it at the hooker runnin' off with yer stuff, ya didn't _needa_ tell me it wos … it wos a bloke." He cleared his throat. "If ya didn't know about _me_ then … that coulda ended bad." Said Sniper "Really bad."

Spy was impressed. He remained silent however, even when Sniper turned to stare at him.

"If you'd told anyone else, ya probably woulda been attacked, mate. S'not just somthin' ya go around tellin' people."

"No," conceded Spy "It is not."

"Not unless ya think yer safe doin' it."

"Indeed."

"So then why'd ya tell me?" he asked, almost pleading. "How the hell did ya come to think that was a good idea, Spook?"

"I have a sense for these things."

"Bullshit. You even know what they do to poofahs where I'm from? I've spent me whole life makin' sure I seem like the _last_ guy ya'd wanna tell." Said Sniper "Nobody's ever thought otherwise."

"I am not like everybody else." Said Spy "but you do a fine job of convincing everybody else. Alas convict, you will 'ave no such luck with me." Sniper didn't say anything. His shoulders slumped and he kept his gaze on the ground. "It is my job to read people." continued Spy. "Is it such a bad thing that I know?"

"Ya gonna tell anyone?"

"It would be rather detrimental to my own situation if I were to do that. After all, who do you think our dear friends are going to believe out of ze two of us?"

"I suppose." Sniper sniffed and looked out across the desert. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me. We are on the same boat, are we not?" They stared at one another for an unawkward moment before Spy pulled out a small screwdriver from his breast pocket and handed it to Sniper. "We do not need to be at each other's throats all ze time, you know." He grinned, turning to walk back inside.

Sniper fiddled with the screwdriver and smiled. "Yeah."

..

"She's no yer girlfriend Scout." Demoman was slumped in his chair, his words slurred.

"Fuck you, man." Scout shoved a finger in his face. "Don't you be hatin' on our love, Cyclops! What we have is beautiful."

"What's beautiful?" Soldier entered the room with a half-eaten steak in his hand, grease smeared around his mouth and running down his arm.

Demo nodded to Scout "He's goin' on aboot Miss Pauling again."

"Face is son, a good American woman like Pauling will already have a husband and kids by now."

"She doesn't – she's only got eyes for me, man, I'm tellin' ya. You old farts are jus' jealous cuz ya don't have a broad back home!"

"I got a woman back home." Said Demoman. "Jus' happens ta be me mum."

"That doesn't count!"

"Isn't your mom married to the RED Spy?" asked Soldier, looking at Scout as he bit into his steak.

"Aye!" laughed Demo "Spy's yer new da!" he burst out laughing, doubling over and belching at the same time.

"Fuck you!" Scouts face burned red and he stood up.

"Spy is your father?" Soldier dropped his steak. "Traitor!"

"You guys suck so freakin' _much_!" Scout stormed out of the room, Soldier following him to yell about his treacherous bloodline. Sniper passed them at the door and stepped aside to let them storm past, lifting an eyebrow at the commotion.

"What's all that ruckus about then?" he asked Demo.

"Soldier bein' soldier an' Scout bein' Scout."

"Fair enough." He pulled a cold beer from the fridge and sat across from the Scotchman. "Dunno who's worse outta that pair."

"Think they're both jus' as bad as each other." Demo knocked back his scrumpy. "I'd feel bad for the lass if she was wae that Scout yin."

"Lass?" Sniper though for a second. "He pinnin' after Miss Pauling again?"

"Aye," said Demo "Boy's heed over heels fer her."

"Good luck to him, she's a tough wee Sheila she is."

"Cute though," Demo flashed a brilliant, white smile "I'd love ta have her fer a night, would you no?"

"Oh yeah." The answer came out on instinct, but there was no enthusiasm in Snipers words. "Definitely." He took a long swig of beer.

"Evenin' boys," Engineer entered the room, rolls of blueprint under his arm. "gonna be a beautiful night tonight." He smiled as he dropped his papers and headed straight to the fridge.

"You complete yer plans then?" Demo called over his shoulder. Engie grabbed a beer and joined them, pulling off his goggles.

"Complete _and_ improve." He took a drink "Can start buildin' her tomorrow. I tell ya, she's gonna be beautiful."

"Jesus Christ lad," Demo burst out laughing. "We're sittin' here talkin' aboot beautiful women and you come in all hot and bothered over yer bloody machines!"

"Hell, I won't lie - I'd marry them if I weren't already taken." he chuckled and Demo leaned over to 'cheers' him.

"Yer somethin' special Engie, so ye are."

"Didn't know ya were married, mate." Sniper chimed in.

"Yeah, almost nine years now." A smile crept onto his face, one of genuine warmth. "My ladies back in Bee Cave, she writes to me every week though."

"S'that why you flutter about the mail room every bloody Monday?" Sniper chuckled. Engie beamed and nodded.

"Sure is, stretch."

"Ya got a photo of yer lass?" Demo asked mischievously.

"Not one for you lot to see." The three of them laughed and drank for the next few hours, and eventually Soldier and Scout returned and joined them, the noise gradually attracting the rest of the team. It was a rare event, all nine mercenaries getting together for a drink, but when it did happen it was always spontaneous and unexpected. Occasionally violent but always enjoyable.

"So Mike says to Dave 'there's no toothpaste in there, we ran out this morning' and Dave says 'so what did I brush my teeth with?' and Johnny bursts out laughin' and says 'Mike's rash cream!'" Scout doubled over and slapped his knee, wiping a tear.

"I thought your brother Johnny didn't stay at home?" asked Engie.

"Nah, that's James."

"Ya'll got too many brother for me to keep up with."

"How many brothers does Scout have?" asked Heavy.

"Seven, man. How many times I gotta say it? You got brothers?"

"No," said Heavy, taking a swig of beer "I have three leetle sisters."

"When you say little, d'ye literally mean little, or jus' younger?" asked Demo.

"Both. They are littler than me and younger than me."

"I'd be kinda worried if they were bigger than ya!" said Scout.

"They are bigger than you, tiny Scout."

"Hey I'm still growin' fatass!"

"Mon Dieu, no you're not," Spy pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're already twenty two."

"Yeah? And what are you Frenchie, like fifty or somthin'?"

"I," Spy stood "am calling it a night. Bonne nuit, gentlemen."

"Lightweight!" Scout called after him.

"Actually boys, think I'm gonna hit the hay myself." Engie scooped up his plans. "Got a lota tinkerin' to do tomorrow."

"Aw, don't suck like Spy, Hardhat." Then Sniper stood and stretched. "What, you too slim?"

"Sorry, mate." Sniper yawned. "Been a long day, an' it's gettin' late."

"Fear no boyo," Demo was so drunk he couldn't even keep his eye open. "I-I'll stay up wi' ye!" then he fell out of his chair.

Spy, Engie and Sniper all exited together, ignoring Scout's demands for a drinking contest as Heavy let out bellowing laughter.

"Poor lads gonna be sufferin' fer this tomorrow." Chuckled Sniper.

"Well, I'm sure we'd be the same if we were still his age." Engie nodded to them as he stopped by his room door. "See you boys for work in the morning."

"Yeah." Sniper and Spy were left walking together down the hall and Sniper had a goofy grin on his face.

"And what _are_ you looking so happy about?" asked Spy.

"You," said Sniper "Ya joined us for a drink tonight. Fer the first time, no less. Ya take me advice then?"

"Do not flatter yourself. I simply had nothing better to do with my night, for once."

"Whatever ya say, mate."

"Are you staying indoors for the night or retreating to your filthy, little van?"

"Me van of course," Sniper shrugged "Don't like the beds in here, too soft and lumpy. Bad fer me back."

"I see."

After a moments silence, Sniper turned to him "Why?"

"Just wondering," Spy glanced down at his watch. "It is only midnight."

Sniper copied his action, looking at his own watch and nodding. Spy's door was approaching them, and with it the turn off hallway that led to the exit taking Sniper to his van. They both stopped by the hallway and Spy stared at Sniper expectantly, lifting an eyebrow. Sniper had only drank four bottles of beer so he wasn't drunk per se, but he wasn't completely sober either.

"You wonna have one more before we call it a night?" he asked, grinning sheepishly.

"I would," said Spy as he unlocked his door. "Not in your dingy van of course. I must warn you before I grant you access to my private quarters though, that it is spacious and clean, so do not be alarmed."

"Yer hilarious."

"I know." Spy pushed the door open and motioned for Sniper to enter first. "After you, monsieur."

"You even got any bloody beer in here?" Sniper asked as he passed him.

"No," said Spy "I have something much better."

..


End file.
